Aslan's Will: Hope is born
by MunchykinsTriangle123
Summary: War is inevitable. The abandoned and banished are vengeful. Aslan is missing, Peter has been sent back to Spare Oom to judge Gwen. Whilst the others prepare for a battle, that they know they cannot win. Sequel to Aslan's Will. Peter/OC
1. Chapter 1: Spare Oom

Chapter 1: Spare Oom

Disclaimer: I don't own Narnia...

A/N : The second part... SQUEEEE : 2000+ views for Aslan's Will * ... bloody hell. :) Thank you so much!

Good luck for those who are sitting exams... It sucks..

'Ok, I think I have all of your details.' The man in front of him, looked back at the folder, a look of confusion on his face. The older man looked back up at him and back down at the clip board. A pained look on his face.

'I'm terribly sorry, I seem to have forgotten your name, and my secretary has done me the pleasure of not filling out some your details correctly.' He sighed, his grey eyes weary. 'What was your name again?'

The figure sitting opposite him, thought quickly his dark blue eyes darting around the room for inspiration. A poem hung upon the opposite wall: 'The Tables Turned.'

'William, William Nightingale.' he said quickly. The man looked back at his notes. He nodded.

'Of course, I'm sorry, we have your details here, I must thank my secretary for preparing this.' He made a quick note. 'Right.' The man said standing up to shake Peter's hand. 'Pleasure meeting you Mr Nightingale.'

'Thank you for this opportunity, Dr Thomas.' He shook his hand, smiling. Dr Thomas led him out of the office, past a couple of students who where on their way to and from class.

'Ladies, its one day before the end of term, remember that.' Dr Thomas smiled knowingly. The group of girls, went quite before bursting into fits of giggles after the two of them had rounded a corner. Dr Thomas led Peter through a labyrinth of Stone. Passing a groups of students, Peter's eyes went wide at the clothing and the way they where acting. The women where dressing so provocatively and smiling at him. He smiled back, clearly confused, he heard their cackling as they swayed round a corner.

Holding the double doors open for him, Dr Thomas led Peter to what looked like a reception area. A large foyer, marbled floor with a stone atmosphere, he saw the middle-aged man smile at a very pretty red-head, who was currently taking a call. She waved, and smiled courteously towards Peter, he looked away hurriedly.

'Right, I think that's it. Your parents have sent the rest of the details, and your previous universities and schools reports will be arriving tomorrow. That's if the post is on time.' Peter nodded, not really knowing what to say. He assumed Aslan had sent a fictional birth certificate and past school records. Unfortunately, he hadn't been given any more instructions, but to find Gwen. He shifted slightly, and tried to breathe, right now his brother was probably mapping out the exact plans to eliminate the army which was headed straight towards them. No to him. He was stuck here, unable to do anything, not able to help his family and the people he had swarm to protect.

'William, William?' The Doctor brought him back down to earth.

'Oh, I'm sorry, I was just thinking.' The doctor smiled:

'That's good, I would be concerned if you weren't. Now, here's your keys, there's only one, but there are spares at reception if you ask nicely enough. Now your classes down start until after the Summer Break, with your exams this coming January. Is that ok?'

'Yes sir.'

'Good, I have a map of the complex and of the surrounding city. Oxford's pretty easy to navigate, providing you know where your going!'

'Thank you.' He took the keys, and pocketed them.

'I don't think there is anything else.' His eyes were cloudy, unfocused. The only way he could exist, after all he was dead. Distorting time and the space around him, rippling, allowing people to see only what they wanted to see. Seeing a dead man – no one wants to see, their minds block out the impossible and leave only an idea of what should be happen. So to him, he was a student, nothing more. Things may seem odd, but he would soon forget it or dismiss it.

'Thank you! Bye!' Peter smiled warmly, the man smiled back. Peter left the building, watching out of the corner of his eye as the man shook his head, throw the papers in the bin and started to talk to the pretty red head.

A torrent of noise hit him, he looked up and down the street, a man pushed passed him. Peter wanted to stay something, but he knew that he had no authority here. His task was to find Gwen and from there... He shook the image of her last moments from his head, the same image that had haunted his dreams... He squared his shoulders and looked around, trying not to focus on his surroundings. The sheer mass of people for a seemingly quiet city was terrifying, the clothes had changed. Things had become shorter, some longer and some as his ears went red, where transparent. The hot sun beat down on him. Peter shielded his eyes, the sun was diluted, nothing compared to the rich, golden nectar which illuminated Aslan's Country.

Cars roared up and down the road, chasing each other like animals, the ground seemed harder, so did the people. It seemed harder and harder to pick out a smile. Ignoring his surroundings and his obvious lack of direction, he set off, glancing at his map ever so often. Peter eventually found the building. A row of terest houses, many of them in dire need of repair – is this where she was staying? As if on cue a roof tile became free, escaping from its eternal stay and tumbling with a crack to the ground. All the curtains were closed on both floors, shouldering his rucksack. Which he hadn't noticed had been there before, strode up the potholed path and opened the door.

He looked at the piece of paper, feeling a grow of dread fill the bottom of his stomach. There were doors to his left, a mustered yellow covered the walls. The inside was a great improvement to the exterior. To his right pigeon holes, ahead the stairs. Glancing at the doors, then at the key. He strode up the stairs, taking three at a time. Feeling as though, if he hesitated, he would never move. The second floor was much the same as the ground floor. A door to the left and one to the right. One was a dark blue, the other a rich burgundy, a gold 2b stood proud. He collected himself, not aware that his hands where shaking as he put the key into the lock, pausing only to knock and press what he assumed to be a doorbell.

Peter ran his fingers though his hair, not wanting to search himself for the answers, to his nervousness. The the vibrations he felt out side the door suddenly revealed themselves. Music was blaring. He looked around bleary, trying to focus. He was a large room, which operated as both the kitchen and lounge. The kitchen was similar in format to what he remembered, what seemed like a lifetime ago, a mere distant memory of a dream. A dream of a dream.

A strange screen stood mounted on the wall to his left, opposite a what must be a settee. A table stood between them, a doors flanked the screen, with a third to the left of the settee. The room was very basic, nothing adored the magnolia wall except a few paintings: he placed his bag down softly, and walked over towards one of the canvases.

It was oil, he was sure of it, it depicted the High Kings and Queen's hunting for the white stag. He felt himself grow dark. A further look around the room, brought another oil canvas of the Lion. His eyes where painted with such detail, that Peter could almost feel his presence in the room.

A floorboard creaked.

Gwen was standing there, a bow drawn. He took a step back in shock. His arms immediately reaching for a sword which wasn't there and for a dagger which was imaginary. He stopped himself, and raised his fists ever so slightly in a defensive posture. Peter let his eyes take all of her in. Her face was more or less the same, full lips snarled as hazel eyes bored into his. Her hair was messy and the same mousy colour, a tad longer though as he considered it.

'Get out.' She growled. Her eyes were dark.

'I'm...studying here, the Dean told me to come here.' Peter babbled, the king inside him groaned with embarrassment. _Yes, of course that sounded convincing and not at all sinister... _

'Bollocks!' She fired a warning shot, passed his ear, he dodged it easily, she quickly reloaded. Peter flourished a piece of paper in the air.

'The Dean gave me this...' he began. Her face slackened, the arrow drooped slightly. 'Are you Simon?'

'He shook his head. 'No I'm William, William Nightingale.' he said emphatically.

She lowered the bow, her face went beet red. She leaned it against the wall, she smiled, clearly embarrassed. 'Sorry, introductions aren't really my thing.'

Peter smiled, he felt that he had to say something, years of politics getting the better of him. 'Doesn't matter, but if you don't mind me asking, why do you have a bow?' Gwen rolled her eyes, I've had a couple of break ins, put it this way, so much that my aim has improved dramatically.'

His face grew concerned, 'How many have you had?'

'Oh! Don't worry!' she said brightly, seeing the look on his face she added hurriedly. 'No really don't, the police have been round and everything...' again she looked embarrassed. 'I had to explain to five policemen and one judge, why I kept and arrow and why I felt it was necessary to shoot the intruder in the arse.'

'Ah.' Peter's faced relaxed slightly, his ears going pink.

'I'm sorry, we haven't been introduced properly. What with me shooting an arrow at you and what not. I'm Gwen, Guinevere Darling, don't laugh!' She added as she held out her hand.

Years of protocol do not go away in an instant, even when your dead. Peter bowed gracefully, a arm moving to the left, eye contact constant. Peter looked at her when he had finished, hoping that he hadn't blown his chances.

Her face had slackened, her eyes wide, she seemed to be clutching a pendant around her neck. She turned away from him for a moment, he could hear mutterings of 'Get a grip' and 'Its not him.'

'I'm sorry.' Peter looked concerned, his mind raced for an excuse. 'My finishing school was extremely old fashioned about introductions.' Just like that, Gwen smiled.

'Sorry, just taken aback that's all. Well, I reckon that if you can bow, I can keep a bow and shoot at you.' She grinned. Becoming him to the rooms located next to the screen on the wall.

Opening a door, she shot him an apologetic look. 'I'm sorry, I'll move all of the stuff.'

The room was similar in size to the one he used to share with Edmund, it was the same yellow as the sitting room with a single bed in a corner, a large wardrobe, complete with several canvases the room was pretty bland.

'I'll leave you to sort your stuff out. I've got to go and give a paper to Dr Caspiar, he's head of Art, I wont be long. Would you like anything? I was going to get a take-away tonight since it was a Friday. Is that ok?' She looked quite nervous.

Peter smiled, 'That sound lovely.' Having no idea what she was talking about.

'Don't' you have any classes today?'

' I don't think so..' Peter replied

'What subjects are you taking?'

'History and Politics.' Peter rambled off.

'Lucky sod, you haven't got any classes until September! I wont be long, I hate to have to do this, but he needs my essay in other wise he'll kill me.. I'm sorry.' Help your self to anything in the cupboard and to the TV.' She called as the door slammed.

He dumped his rucksack and fell on to the squashy mattress, pulling a paint brush under the covers almost immediately after lying down. He felt sleep over come him and his eye lids suddenly were like dead weights, dragging him down to sleep.

Noise hit him, a wall of chaos and panic. He looked around, spotted Edmund, he was pouring over a map, figuring representing armies dotted over the mat, whilst fauns and centaurs carried armour to and fro across the courtyard, Griffins flying to and fro relaying information.

Edmund looked up, pained expression on his face, he smiled when he saw Peter, but it didn't fully reach his eyes.

'You've changed. Has modern air done something, I've lost my big brother.' Peter smiled, but it immediately changed into a furrowed brow as he began relaying instructions.

'How many forces do we know? What are the logistics? Estimated time of arrival? Orius, what are we up against, I want Griffins and Phoenix patrolling all of Aslan's country, all of the levels, all times, all places: The Lone Islands, Archenland, even Calormen. Espically Ettismore, unfortunately the place where the castle stood festers with dark magic. Even here. I want Dryads and Naiads exploring their territories, I want all dimensions checked. Leave no stone unturned, I will personally reprimand any being which does not search every corner of Aslan's country!' The centaur nodded, needing no more encouragement.

As Aslan's country was the true place for all Narnians, and for all of those who had stayed true to Narnia, no matter what race or being. There were goblins which had fled after the battle, wishing forgiveness from Aslan, renouncing any other false idols. He granted them passage.

The structure of Aslan's country was similar to a tiered wedding cake, which was then squashed. As it was heaven, the beings could exist could exist in whichever time zone they wished to, it did make event planning rather difficult, since many of your guest where living 100 years in the future. However all the tiers interlinked, the pillars holding up the cake, acting as passages and ways of communication. phoenīcēs could travel near the speed of light, thus passing time. But then again, each time zone existed on their own. The High Kings and Queens ruled over all, Aslan of course ruled over the High Kings and queens. However not many people saw him, he was even more isolated in his own country, leaving it to be exactly how Narnia should have been. Free from harm and worry, all evil gone from the world.

Peter looked at Edmund, he could still see his little brother, time after time he had seen him grow into a fine and Just man, only to return to a boy, unable to fit in or understand the lack of maturity in his peers.

'How long?' Peter asked,his mouth dry.

'We don't know, I'm sure we've got some time to prepare... but..' He tailed off, the possible words fading into a terrible silence.

'We have about six months, and being generous. I estimate that she will be here during the summer solstice, when the suns highest. Aslan only knows the numbers.' Peter put his hand on his brother's shoulder.

'I trust that you will be properly prepared.' Edmund nodded. Looking down, his eyes revealing his true emotions.

'I trust in Aslan, we will be fine.' Edmund looked at him.

'I don't understand, why are you there and not here, we need you here, Lucy and Susan are going out of their minds with worry. Not even Mr Tumnus can console Lucy. Susan has just shut her self away, refusing to see anyone, my guess is that she's hand making arrows again, and you know she only does that when she's deeply troubled.' Edmund sighed, clearly frustrated, the bubbling anger, apparent in his body language.

The Just King was famous during the Golden age for his anger, although the high king was quicker to anger and to express his emotions. A steep learning curve for any diplomat is upset the just king. In complete opposite to his youth, hot headed and frustrated. Edmund had mellowed, and his wrath, when exposed was to be more feirces it was rumoured than even Queen Lucy's.

'Keep, your anger in check Ed.' Peter warned. 'Your people need you to be strong, I need you to be strong.' He smiled grimly, turned away... as he woke up back in the sparsely furnished room.


	2. Chapter 2: Nightmares Again

Chapter 2 : Nightmares again.

Disclaimer : I don't own Narnia

Gwen closed the door and leaned on it, breathing heavily, she shut her eyes and tried to stop the tears that were forming there. The proud, but obviously disorientated man, had imprinted himself on her. He looked so like him, it was unreal, skinnier. A lot skinnier, similar to paintings she had seen of Edmund, tall and gangly. He commanded none of the presence of the high king nor any of the respect. He looked like the sort of guy who was always picked first for rounders and football. But the last for Rugby.

She shook herself, he did resemble him. His eyes where darker, and had flecks of grey dotted around his pupil. His hair was wild and seemed to be untameable, not even gel nor comb could rest the sheer mass that roamed on top of his head. His face was thinner as well with a longer nose.

Gwen pounded her head with her palm, the voice of reason was telling her to stop comparing, whilst the other part of her brain was stripping William bare. 'Stop it! Christ!' she muttered. She bolted down the stairs, trying to run away from her thoughts. The dark ones which everyone wishes weren't there taunted: _I thought you loved Peter... I do.. He's kind, thoughtful and a gentlemen... Your not thinking about him so much now... It has been eight months... No, if you truly loved him... Shut up!... Maybe I didn't love him, maybe it was a stupid infatuation or something. It doesn't matter, because I'm never going to see him again._ Her ribs tightened. Brain had nothing to say.

She handed her paper in to Dr Caspiar, thoughts being kept at bay by a mental barrier she had developed over the past six months. She had never thought that anyone could die of a 'broken heart.' Fairy tales and novels often over exaggerated emotions, tears where almost as common as laughter for her now. Nothing was exaggerated, nothing heightened.

She placed the order. There she had indulged and let her misery spiral..no more. She had planned to just get a bottle of wine, perhaps ask Rose over for a glass. But now? Gwen ran across the road, raising a hand apologetically to cars which nearly ran her over. Entering the shop and aware of the time, she hopped from foot to foot, staring at the labels and the contents to the bottles. Mad, panic-y thoughts jumped around her head, her palms were sweaty. Questions bobbed in her head, rising and falling._ Does he like red, white or even Rose... no defiantly not. Beer, all men like beer... Dear Aslan.._.Groaning she grabbed a bottle of white and a large bottle of 'Becks.' Pausing when she saw the spirit section. No!

She paid for the items quickly, a niggling voice at the back of her mind reminding her about her limited funds. Running back to the Indian Restaurant, she thanked the waiter, and wheezed back to her flat.

'I'm sorry!' She called, surprised to see him at the open door. He took the bags, Gwen murmured thanks and locked up. Trying to ignore the wriggling in her stomach, the feeling that only a certain person could bring out in her and answer his question.

'I've been here about two years.' she said as she directed him to the plates. She saw him looking at the food, an odd expression on his face. 'I'm sorry, I didn't know what you liked, I should have asked.' The words spilled out nervously.

William smiled at her. 'Don't worry, It's just I've never tried.' He thought for a second, remembering the menu he had found in one of the many draws. 'Curry before..'

'What!' Gwen looked scandalised. He met her gaze with complete sincerity. 'Well I got a bit of everything really, the owners know me really well...'

'I'm sure it will be lovely.' She blushed, Damn you brain...

She opened the bottles of beer and served the take-away very ceremoniously on trays. 'Ta da!' She wiggled her hands in the air. 'One curry!' She handed him the tray. 'Plonk yourself on the sofa.' Peter carefully sat down and gazed at the meal in front of him, looking at it cautiously he carefully scooped some in a spoon...

Gwen sat down next to him, as Peter tried to gulp down surreptitiously cooling beer. He noticed that she kept fiddling with a pendant around her neck, she looked like she was about to say something, but didn't. They sat in awkward silence, until Gwen could take it no longer.

'Look, I probably have to tell you this.. I don't know why, but I'd rather you hear it from me rather than rumour.' He looked at her, perplexed, her eyes looked swollen, like she had cried for years.

'What is it?' Peter said trying to keep his voice level.

'I...' She began, she looked around, obviously searching for the words. 'About six months ago, I went away... I disappeared, nothing happened.' She added quickly, not looking him in the eye. Peter went cold. 'I stayed with this family.' He saw her smile ruefully. 'This amazing family, they told me I could stay forever. But one day, they told me I had to go home, I assumed they didn't want me and I was returned.' Peter noted the choice of words 'Returned.'

'Oh.' Peter said, there was nothing else he could say.

'Are you ok?'She looked at him imploringly. He nodded and shrugged.

'I'm fine, are you though?' Concern etched his words.

'No.' She said quietly. They jumped as something was ringing, Peter saw her take a devise out of her pocket and speak into it, mouthing apologies,she went into her bedroom.

'Sid, please, I told you... No its not you its me.. Please... I wasn't ready... I'm sorry for using you...I never meant for you to get hurt.. Sid it was a month, please stop calling me its scaring me actually, why won't you leave me alone.' Peter was stock still, the beast inside of him was roaring, it needed to be fed, someone was hurting Gwen, someone was making her unhappy. He looked up, he heard her voice harden. 'Sid, I'm sorry, but piss off ok! I don't love you, now leave me the hell alone!'

She stormed out of the room, hair flying, face flushed. Peter tactfully examined his rice. She smiled apologetically, the beast nestled back into its cage, waiting to be let loose again.

'Has he ever laid a hand on you?' Peter said sharply. Gwen looked up startled by the question and the sharpness of his gaze.

'No. He's just got a temper that's all, he doesn't like letting go.. I shouldn't have used him like that.. I needed something...I'm such a bitch.' She poked her curry, tears falling into the dish.

'Don't call yourself that.' Peter chided her. 'I..I'm sure you had your reasons..'

'Yeah.' She laughed bitterly, Peter caught a flash of madness in her eyes. 'I just had to fall in love with the him didn't I? Obviously I can't take rejection well...' She chuckled darkly.

'Oh Aslan, you probably think I'm mental...' She cursed.

'I don't actually.' She looked at him. 'Your obviously hurting, we want to but we cannot always act nobly and selfless. Even if we want to.' She nodded, Gwen's fingers where wrapped tightly around her necklace. 'Do you mind?' He gestured to the necklace, Gwen shook her head and removed the chain.

The lion's head.

'Do you think I will ever go back?' She said quietly.

'Do you believe?' Peter said earnestly.

'I thought they didn't want me...but something coming and I need to go back... They did say that I would never be banished.' She shook her head again, masses of dark blonde cascaded over her shoulders. 'I'm sorry, I shouldn't have told you..' She looked down, clearly mad herself.

'Whats this dish called again?' Peter inquired, changing the subject. Gwen looked relieved. 'Oh it's Chicken Jalfrezi, do you like it?'

'It's a tad spicy for my taste, but it is flavoursome.' Gwen smiled, a grin spreading across her pale face.

'Just excuse me for a moment.' Gwen placed the tray on the table and hurried to the bathroom.

Peter sighed and let his eyes fall gently shut.

'All archers to the outer wall!' Caspian roared, Peter whipped around, he was standing on the deeping wall, the first defence to Cair Paravel. Archers rushed by him, shock and what looked like anger on their faces, as they readied their weapons.

'Caspian.' The fair-haired man looked at him, his eyes widened.

'Your-' Caspian began

Peter interrupted him, 'Don't say anything, where is Edmund?'

'In the courtyard, near the armoury last time I saw him.' Peter nodded, and pushed his way through the mass of soldiers. He shimmed down a ladder,landing next to what had been the market stalls. He ran flat out towards a familiar looking tent.

'Ed!' Edmund turned, his expression similar to that of Caspian. 'Already?'

Edmund nodded grimly, he bore a gash over his right eye, giving his handsome face a harrowed experience. Peter took a step back. 'Ed? What happened?' his voice harsh and dry. He stared at his brother, who smiled darkly.

'A Malumi.' He said simply, raising his eyebrows, wincing ever so slightly.

'The have been extinct for centuries. How could they be here?' Peter's voice was beginning to crack.

He knew of the Malumi, they had been deep in Narnian lore and mythology from near the beginning of times. If they had returned...

'Honestly, I have no idea. Rhea patched me up and told me some of Gwen's dreams, mostly the parts of the 'evil and damned''

'Malumi, are certainly damned.' Peter muttered.

'Exactly, Peter listen to me, we need you, I have no idea how to stop this.' He gestured madly. 'Aslan is no where to be seen, we just have to hope that he will return if and when the battle goes bad.'

Peter's stomach twisted and writhed, bile rose and fell like the tide in his throat.

'How much time do we have until they come?'

'A week. Scout have reported a mass of darkness a plague being sent ahead of the host. Susan believes it to be a off shoot of the Deplorable Word. It's killed all of the trees in the north and Archenland and Calormen are in shadow, we haven't been able to send word. We haven't had any outside contact for days. Those who fled Archenland and Calormen are here and frankly Pete, we could do with all the help we can get.'

Peter nodded dumbly. 'I have two days, then.'

'Peter, we need you here now! Have you become blind? Oh wait you haven't have you, that was nearly me, Tumnus was the one who saved me, Aslan only knows what sort of condition he's in! Forget her! Aslan will bring her back when necessary, stop indulging fantasies and come home!' The Just king's rage was hot and vast, his deep brown eyes burned with defiance and frustration.

Peter grabbed Edmund by the collar and slammed him against the wall. 'Do you think I take this lightly? Do you think I am enjoying being away from my people, knowing whilst I enjoy in talk that my family is at war? If you think that than you do not know me. I am charged with the task Aslan set me, I will return brother in two days, before the siege begins. Aslan needs her to be safe and to be judged. If you think I have been...' He spat venomously, tears in his eyes. He let down Edmund slowly, turning away.

'Are you ok? Gwen, appeared holding a notebook, 'You've gone white as a sheet.'

'Yes, I'm fine thanks.' he hastily ran his hands through his hair.

'Are you sure? It just that I've dumped all of my problems on to you, I'm wondering if you want to do the same?' She picked up the cold congealing curry and plonked it in the sink. Gwen climbed over the back of the sofa and bounced down next to him. 'Its just, I dunno, It feels like I known you for ages.'

Peter shrugged, anger and frustration bubbled up inside him threatening to overturn. He swallowed his anger and the vile taste in my mouth. 'Thank you, but no.' He smiled weakly.

Gwen looked like she was pondering something after a while she said, 'Look, I've got to go out tomorrow, really early. A bit of a bugger. But afterwards, I wondered if you would like to go for a drive or something. My treat?'

Peter looked at her, 'But you've only known me for...' he glanced at the clock, 'Two hours.'

'I know, but you remind me of someone and you seem like a decent guy.' Her eyes narrowed, 'Any screwing me around and you won't have any testicles ok?'

Peter's eyes went wide, Gwen broke out into a grin, it was infectious. She started to giggle, and couldn't stop, it must have been the wine. William soon joined in, only Aslan knew why they had started and why it was so infectious.

'Stop laughing at me! I mean it. I can't help it.. Stop making fun!' Peter laughed harder, it had been such along time since he had last laughed...

She punched him playfully. 'Hey! What was that for?'

'For not stopping laughing.'

'You do realise that that didn't really make any sense.' Peter saw her screw up her eyes in thought.

'No...It didn't, did it?'

'No, not really.'

'So the punch was justified..?' She teased, not fully aware of what she was doing, the bottle stood three quarters empty between them.

'I suppose..'

'You suppose what?' she said a devilish glint in her eye.

'I suppose that we...' he glanced at the clock .'Should go to bed.'

'Damn, you have to be right, don't you.'

'Well, it comes with responsibilities of being a High-.' Peter stopped, blood drained from his face.

'A High what..' Gwen pushed the hair out of her eyes, searching his face.

'A high born bore.' Peter said hurriedly. Gwen continued to look at him suspiciously. They sat their in silence for age it felt like, neither of them making eye contact. He glanced at the clock again . 'Come on off to bed.' He looked at her, she had fallen asleep, a faint smile on her face, her hands grasped tightly on the chain.

He lifted her up, he was aware that it wasn't as easy as it should have been. Not to say that Gwen was fat or 'round' as his mother said. She certainly had a fuller figure than Susan or Lucy, especially Rhea. It was one of the things he liked about her, everything, including her personality was full of life. Also, Peter wasn't in his normal body, he was skinnier, clearly built for speed, not for bulk. His shoulders, which had been wide and commanding where now slight and lacked presence.

He became suddenly aware that she had shorts on, denim shorts. Her legs where thick with muscle and bare. He swallowed, becoming aware of other features, large full lips, bosoms and hips became suddenly very obvious. The face of his brother came into view, he swallowed.

Peter walked into her bedroom, placing her carefully on the bed, tucking her in. He carefully stroked back a stray hair, ignoring the growing affection in the pit of his stomach. The feeling he had felt for her in Narnia had grown over time, Peter was noble, proud and incredibly stubborn, admitting he had feelings for her, was only the tip of the very complicated looking iceberg. Saying that he would die for her, didn't even begin to sum it up...

He settled down, pulling a paint brush out of the bed. And hoped that a tactical miracle would appear to him...

Peter sat up, bolt upright. She was screaming, a blood curdling scream. Instinct took over. He threw himself into her room.

Gwen was shrieking, tears poured from her closed eyes, thrashing about she screamed his name. He stood there, wanting to help. All he could see was his Edmund's face. He growled, and scooped her up in his arms, rocking her back and forward until she stopped screaming.

'Peter.' She whimpered.

He closed his eyes and held her until the tears stilled.


	3. Chapter 3: Fire Burns, Snow Falls

Chapter 3 : Fire burning, Snow Falling

A/N: Sorry I haven't updated – here we go:

Disclaimer: I do not own the book with the lion and the magic talking animals.

Gwen sat dejectedly with her head in her hands, a folder in front of her had been hastily thrown onto the coffee table. She groaned loudly, unaware that Peter watched her in interest. Scowling at the ceiling, she blinked back tears. 'I could have gone to boxing, I could have worked on that assignment for Dr Patel, I could have bloody well nearly shot Mrs Fisher's cat from across the road! But instead, I...' Her voice broke, tears now streamed down her face, rubbing her arms and shoving the tears away as she did so, Peter wanted nothing more than to comfort her. Gwen's voice was quiet, assured and defiant, but still the tears flowed freely. 'I am going back. I will go back – he said I would never be banished. There's a reason, there's always a reason.'

A floorboard creaked under Peter, she jumped violently. 'Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you.' he willed himself not to act on instinct and scoop her up in his arms and hold her tight, his voice kind. The way he spoke reminded her of someone..she shook his concerns away with a wave, and in the same motion wiped the rest of the tears away.

'Good sleep?' She said not looking at him directly.

'Lovely thank you.' Peter said automatically. She nodded, he walked over to her and gestured to the sofa. 'Would it be ok if I sit here?' he asked polity. A whimsical smile passed over her face, almost reminding her of another place.

'Of course.' She answered pleasantly. Gwen noticed William's gaze; 'I was at an furniture, a place in the country, its being sold – charity auction.' She pointed to a very familiar sight, an old friend it. Made of indiscernible wood, a large wardrobe, with familiar carvings looked back at him. 'I lost by Fifty pounds! Fifty! I could at least understand if it had been something like two thousand or something, but I had that kind of money' She rolled her eyes. 'I lost to an old sod, who's probably gong to stick it in some side room somewhere. Who probably as no idea what it is or what it does!'

Peter noted the word 'does'. Ever so long ago, he had contemplated trying to find and gather the items which had first them to Narnia, for hours he had stood there in that spare room, a burning desire in his soul as he stared at a seemingly inexplicable piece of furniture. Trusting always he had waited and when called he had come. But Gwen... her fate had been different to his, he recognised the look in her eyes, the way her hands scrambled through bits of paper, the way she screamed... Aslan had called her, she knew about the battle, and despite this she was desperately trying to carry out orders.

'I'm sorry, I haven't got any milk in..' Guinevere brought him back to the present, I've got a friend bringing some things over – Charlie. We rotate, when he's on leave he gets my shopping, when he's away..' her face darkened slightly, 'I go round and make sure his place is ok.' He nodded, the beast inside of him wanting to know who this Charlie was, how old was he, and most importantly what relationship did he bare to Guinevere?

A soft voice knocked on the door Peter's inside lurched, 'Guinevere, its me, I've got your groceries and some other things..' he could tell just from that one sentence that they had a relationship. The beast was sharpening claws and talons, ready to spring. Gwen shot him a look of apology, as she opened the door.

A burly man stooped inside, carrying bags laden with shopping, his kind face was in a wide grin. His face reminded Peter of some of the boys that Susan used to go out to dances with; big green eyes, ginger stubble over defined cheekbones gave him a ruggedly handsome look, which even Peter knew most women would find irresistible, couple that with the what he assumed was an army uniform. Peter was almost ready to punch the man. Whilst he knew he had a short temper, he had never wanted a person gone from his life, from Gwen's life, this badly before. He barely knew the man, for heaven sake!

'Right, I think I've got everything. Plus the ingredients for a banana cake.' Charles noted with a smile to die for.

'Oh, is that a hint?'

'Might be. Charles gave a lopsided smile. Peter watched as her eyes filled with tears.

'Charlie.' Her voice was barely above a whisper, 'Don't go, please.'

'Have to. Gwen I've been called up. I leave tonight. ' He said simply.

'Not you as well..' Gwen said bitterly. She visibly pulled herself together and turned to William. 'William, this is Charles, Charlie, my dearest friend. Charlie, this is William, my room mate, who I tried to shoot yesterday.'

Charlie rolled his eyes, 'Again? Gwen..'

'I know.' She waved it away, 'Now give me a hug and bugger off, I'm starving and so's Will.' Peter watched, seeing nothing but a platonic hug...maybe something more. 'Be safe.' She whispered. He nodded, murmured a farewell to William and shut the door.

Gwen breathed heavily, blinking back tears she began to unpack. He supposed he must try to help her, he reasoned that here they were still equals, Peter tried to remember when he last got dressed by himself, not had a servant pick out his clothes, or polish his armour, he knew Edmund and Eustace loved to polish their armour. Despite Eustace never being much of a fighter, he had always said the simple motion calmed and soothed him.

'Would you like some help?' Peter asked, after a long and awkward silence.

'Yes, please.' Her voice shook, he saw her look at the ceiling, blinking back tears. 'Hey, do you want to have Banana Cake for breakfast, just for a change?' she shot him a sad smile. 'I'm sorry, you probably think that I'm some psycho or something.'

'I don't think that, not at all Gwen.' He smiled at her, 'I've never tried banana cake before, besides I hear its good to try new things.'

'Thank you.' Picking up the letters beside her. She raised her eyebrows; 'Bills.' He nodded, not accustomed to the process. An extremely battered envelope was ripped opened automatically, her face fell. Anger flooded her face.

'What is it?' William stood next to her, reminding him, that he could not tower over her as he had done and this hair cut, was extremely distracting...

'Daddy.' her voice caught, a lump seized. To his surprise she crumpled the letter and threw it into the waste paper bin. 'Bastard.' She hissed. 'Over twenty years... ' she muttered as she opened cupboards and took out utensils. 'Today...I've got more important things...Like getting back...I will not..'

The final test. Peter mused, he glanced at the canvas nearby, he could almost feel the lions omniscient stare bore into him.

'Ready?' Her voice was calm and her gaze steady, she was looking between him and the lion. She wasn't stupid, but for this to work, secrecy needed to be maintained. Gwen gestured towards the bowls in front of her. 'Do you want to help.' Peter immediately recoiled, the action was not lost on Guinevere, who frowned.

'Don't tell me, you've never baked before?' _Is this a test for me too Aslan?To humble myself once again, so I can earn her? So that I will be worthy of her?_ Piety washed over him a cool wave. He shook his head, looking apologetic. 'Well banana cake or bread is really easy. You can mash the bananas.' She handed him a bowl, with four bananas peeled and all sinew removed, and what looked to Peter to be a potato masher. 'Go on, simple.' She smiled encouragingly, as the clink of metal against porcelain was coupled with the soft thud of ingredients being weighed out.

'Add the eggs, ok, here's the spoon, give it a mix. Blimey, eeek!' She let out a noise which Peter could not but help crack a smile, cake mixture was splattered down her top and some how had landed on her cheek and ear.

'I'm sorry!' Peter added hurriedly, feeling a little humiliated and out of his depth. Doing servants work, and women's work in particular, was something he would never of dreamed of doing. He smiled inwardly, she was homely and compared to him exotic, another world it seemed, another language, another time...

'Right add the mixed fruit, stir – Carefully! Ok, now into the tin. There you go... only an hour to go!' she added brightly. Tossing him a tea towel to wipe his face, and motioned to the now full fruit bowl. 'I'm just going to change.' She rolled her eyes feigning annoyance. 'I usually go for a walk, round about now, clear my head.' Gwen added the last part bitterly, 'Before starting assignments, do you want to come, its just through the local park?'

'Yes, thank you.'

'Be back in a tick then, help your self to fruit, but the apples are mine!' She disappeared a for a few minutes, giving time for a warm coat to appear, with sturdy boots trapping his feet in a warm duvet-like feeling.

'Right lets go.' Grabbing her keys she opened the door, motioning for him to go ahead, locking the door behind her. Taking note of the time as she did so.

'Your boots, are they equestrian?' Peter motioned her her shoes as they made their way out of the building.

'Yeah.' She looked embarrassed slightly, I would have worn my knee high ones, but..' She shrugged, Peter watched in interest how her chest moved as she did so, as he noted so long ago, nothing could never dim Gwen's femininity. A plain jumper and a knee length denim skirt and tights, couldn't in anyone mind be seen as provocative, Peter knew this, he told himself this, so why had he spent ten minutes of walking in crisp autumn air, thinking about that jumper.

The mid-morning daylight was making its way into midday blaze, leaves slowly fell around them, red, brown and yellow surrounded them, a blizzard of colour. A lamppost stood quite alone and desolate, no other objects surrounded it, nor were any people in the vicinity. Peter felt it first, but only by about a second, cold hit him hard, the clash of ground steel could be heard. Gwen looked transfixed at the lamp, which was now glowing, illuminating the snow, which was falling heavily onto a thick fluffy carpet of ice.

'What can I do?' Gwen yelled, clearly desperate, 'Their dying! I need to help. I want to fight!' She screamed. She watched as a recognisable figure strode through the snow, her dark eyes fixed on a figure which was near exhaustion, but nevertheless fought hard, until the end. It was him; 'Peter!' she motioned for bow, or perhaps the short sword which wasn't there. William watched as the witch strode over to another figure in his stead – Caspian, his face sweaty, his hair unkempt. Her sword, thin as ice, steam poured off the bloodied blade, dark red blood ran down to the hilt, coating her hands. She raised the weapon, ready to strike. He watched her run over to a figure on the ground, limp and bloodied. Her screams echoed off the trees.

The scene had faded as soon as it had come, not pausing to look at him, she was running, to Aslan knew where, but running felt better than standing still and watching him not wake up. He knew he was faster than her, even in this body, he slowed his pace allowing her to take the lead, watching her steps.

'Its time.' The deep voice reverberated through his skull. He nodded. Peter caught up with her, she was standing on the pavement, her eyes oddly glassy, not fully focused. She looked at her watch. 'Sorry daddy.' she muttered, he knew what she was going to do. A feeling similar to pins and needles began to creep over him, he carefully took her hand and nodded at her. The look of shock on her face was matched with accepted as the car careened into them. The driver's eyes a very familiar sight, Peter saw them before the car impacted, the man had Gwen's eyes.

A couple of miles away, the fire engine sirens wailed, a cake burned and with it any remnants of the life of Guinevere Alma Darling.


	4. Chapter 4: Come back to me

Chapter 4 : Come back to me

A/N: Thanks to those who reviewed:

FelipeMarcusThomas - It was extremely interesting to me, to have Peter's character to humble himself, since he is arrogant and to 'lower himself' to her level, was to me very important.

Thanks and cookies to: Evanescence2189 and princess emma of narnia, for making me get my act together with posting!

Disclaimer: No the place with the talking animals is not mine:

The car must have hit me at over sixty miles per hour, my love of Jaguars has some what been damaged, being that the elegant vehicle slammed into me dead in the chest, killing me instantly. I felt calm and elation pass through my body, as though I was sinking down into a hot bath, I could only feel; sight and sound were far away, voices were growing ever distant. I was beginning to feel a little uneasy, I wanted to see and I wanted to hear. Then I did.

Imagine, a rushing tunnel, full of stars, lights, memories. Then imagine that all that could be felt was raw emotion, no words or numbers existed. A pool lay before me, with out hesitation I jumped, I looked around and noticed a figure next to me. I could not recognise him, though I knew he bore some connection to me, his face changed, moulded, into statuesque beauty. A man so beautiful, I felt like crying; but this was not the man I wanted, he changed again, imperfections swooped down and showed him to me. Still beautiful, but real. His hair changed from brown to gold, his eyes to a brilliant blue, he grew up and out, broad shoulders expanding his frame, making him tower over me. I slowly reached out for him, and it went black.

The throne room was in chaos, people ran, screaming, whilst despite it all, five figures stood around a table, all bloodied and battle worn. Sheets of parchment stood littered, with a Great Sword embedded in one corner to prevent it from moving. The building shook, rubble and debris surrounded us, cracks in the once perfect marble floor were now filled with scarlet blood and dirt.

I appeared about six foot in the air, screaming, I fell to the floor with a sickening crack, which should in any laws of physics have broken all the bones in my body. It didn't, but for me, the laws of science does not apply for a place with talking dressmaking squirrels. I heard another thud, and knew it was Peter.

Pushing myself up, almost immediately I glanced around, my vision was suddenly clouded by a tearful, Susan, who threw herself at me. I staggered, still bruised, as she murmured apologies to me and I to her, not really paying attention to what she was saying. I scanned the destruction; Edmund was defiantly the worst for wear; a scar across his face left him almost in a permanent grimace, his arm was in a sling and I could probably guess that his collar bone had been broken. Caspian, his blond hair blood stained, his eyes wild, had no physical injuries, except for a bandage around one knee, which was starched white, I dearly hoped he hadn't dislocated it. Lucy, stood proud, her shoulders back, her long hair tied in a braid, bruised but fairly unharmed. Jill looked about the same as Lucy, a black eye ballooning spectacularly in her right eye.

I looked to Edmund's left, 'Rosie?' I croaked in confusion, slowly extracting myself from Susan. 'Rosie, Rose, is that you?' she looked at me, her head slightly tilted. 'Rhea!' I breathed, 'You..' She nodded, smiling sadly, giving me a tight squeeze. 'I'm sorry..' I began addressing, the company.

'No time for that.' Edmund barked, shooting me a quick smile; 'Peter, we're surrounded, they've taken the west wing, the courtyard and the surrounding fields, we have no access to water and we have only got enough food to last for another three days. Heavy casualties, the damn things just don't want to die. Trufflehunter and Eustace are down – Minotaur. Caspian – dislocated knee, Lucy – broken fingers, Jill – well, you can see, Susan – ok, but sustained heavy blow to the head whilst helping someone back to the infirmary, and me.. well – scar to face, broken bones, dislocated shoulder.' he fired rapidly.

Peter stood stock still, I watched as he muttered under his breath, he addressed Edmund: 'How many down?'

'12, 000'

'How many will be ready to fight within the hour?'

'Possibly 5,000. If that.'

Peter groaned, he was still wearing his England clothes, they did suit him, dark blue jeans were now gently smoking as like mine they were significantly charred.

'Gather them up, I'm going to change.' He gestured at the clothes, with a look of disdain. 'Meet at the main gate in an hour. No later.'

'What can I do?' I asked ferociously, though as I said it I did feel rather childish in the presents of clear war veterans, those who most probably possessed more skill than I could ever hope to achieve.

'You.' Peter ordered, 'Can stay here.' He began to walk away. I ran up to him, turning him sharply to face me.

'I'm not going to stand idly by!' I countered.

'You will follow orders!' he snarled

'Whilst you and your company risk your lives – I don't think so.' I was nose to nose with him now, admittedly I was on my tip toes- I could almost feel the heat radiating from him. I had never been this close to him before, I cursed inwardly, his scent was extremely distracting. He looked me up and down, focusing on my jumper in particular.

'Well, I think differently.' He said calmly.

'I think your wrong!' I shot back. I almost heard the intake of breath, I saw out of the corner of my eye, Susan her hands over her mouth and a most annoying smirk lining Edmund's scarred face.

Peter moved forward, anger emanated from him as he shook with rage: 'Get out.' he whispered, his eyes were blazing. For the first time since I had known him, I was frightened. I blinked back tears, I continued to stare at him defiantly.

'Fine.' I said breaking eye contact, I was shaking, with suppressed rage and worry. My jumper now stifling me, my mousy hair askew, my eyes red and my hands shaking.

'Go.' he said, a little softer this time, he had probably seen the flash of fear in my eyes or maybe he just felt bad, I didn't care.

'Just..' I began, my eyes never leaving his face: 'Come back to me.'


	5. Chapter 5: The Battle

Chapter 5: The Battle

Disclaimer: I looked at all the wardrobes in IKEA… I don't own Narnia.

I strode out, trying to stop my hands from shaking, I heard a deep voice barking orders, the archway, so beautifully carved, and was now split into three. I dodged falling rubble and shrapnel. Mercenaries and soldiers filed passed me with deadly efficiency. I looked at their faces, most of them looked hardened, and to them it must have been all in a day's work. Its captain, tall and proud shouted orders, the voice seemed familiar, I brushed it off. I headed, rather childishly, to my room not focusing on the chaos around me. Inside I was screaming, but I carried on, humiliation stung and anger caused my palms to bleed. Striding up the winding stone staircase, I glanced out of the paned window, my pulse quickened, and my blood cold and angry.

Darkness surrounded the keep, armies; no it seemed like a population, spreading their malice: the trees were on fire, unearthly wailing could be heard above the noise. The mass surged forwards, never-ending. Tears did come to my eyes then, but I wiped them away quickly and roughly. Men, so corrupt their own blood was eroding them from the inside, diseased and damned they wanted revenge on the being they renounced and refused to believe. Soulless beings, they had no life, apart from revenge. When their husks had been fully dissolved, they became what the Narnians had called: Shaitan, the devil, an evil spirit, a fairy-tale told to children to prevent them from wandering off. These shadows would lurk in the dark of the trees, at the bottom of pools, enticing those who could be corrupted to ruin, recounting their worst memories and nightmares.

I was running, the rustle of the skirt faded to a chink of a breastplate, custom fitted I might add, a leather like material covered my arms and torso, allowing free movement, slippers became heavier and sturdier, lases entwined themselves around leather which grew up and encased my ankle, above stood greaves, protecting my knees and shins. I pushed past the crowd, unable to bring myself to look at the bodies which littered the floor, blood and other fluids had caused the tiled ground to become slippery, I watched as dragoons simply marched over their fallen comrades. I could not; the despair I felt was replaced by anger, adrenaline caused through my veins.

As I learnt later, that I am not a natural fighter; Jill and Lucy on the other hand are. They can focus their minds to the task at hand and deliver blows, brutal and without mercy, and whilst I knew in my heart that I was doing the right thing: these creatures had no soul, mercy or heart, they invaded the only home I had ever truly known, their commander had tortured me for months with scenes of the only man I had ever truly loved dying in front of me, whilst I stood there, defenceless. Fate would have it...a leaflet came through my door, the very day I had returned to England, months of training, and apologies to the instructor, for my lack of hand eye coordination, had prepared me for this – the epic last stand. Where the heroes survive and the lovers ended up kissing in the heat of battle, the other thing I learnt – nothing can prepare you, not entirely.

I headed for the main gate, whilst there were still other lines of defence: gates leading to the wings. The enemy had already climbed the walls and had taken the west wing. Since an epiphany didn't occur to me I though defending the main gate would be a good place to start.

I dodged throngs of people, shoving them out of the way, spotting Eustace and Susan in the battlement; I climbed the walls and surveyed the scene. Bodies lay slaughtered; discarded and unaided as though they were litter. Men, fauns, centaurs and to my ever increasing horror children and families. Looking away I stored my rage, knowing when to release was key, adrenalin was my ace in the whole – since the enemy had no blood or any chemicals which could constitute any form of adrenalin. The stone gates had not been breached... Yet, I thought dismally, hoards of the enemy stood waiting with towers, flanked by archers and spear men.

A battering ram, twisted and maimed from yew was drawn, with dark chains of iron. The ram was carved of images haunting and in some reality I knew were true. Those who would suffer and their fates. The green field were gone, bodies on both sides covered the landscape, beings writhed and twisted through the air - having no need for wings. Serpent shaped and amber coloured, they delighted in simply plucking unsuspecting soldiers and pitching them into the rough sea below. My bow was ready, the ram crashed, an unearthly sound. I fired, a beast went down, another released him, and I fired again and again. My eyes narrowed at their lightly armoured husks, my arm knocked, arrows flew, and the motion became almost mechanical. A slight smile came to my face, I hadn't missed one, and I probably hadn't killed all that I had shot, but at least the lessons had paid off.

I spotted Susan, her hands mirroring mine, Eustace screaming orders, sweat flying of his head as he turned back to face the enemy: fire gushed from the battlements, melting the evil below.

'Guinevere!' Susan exclaimed as she knocked and fired, the arrow hitting its target. A look of grim satisfaction took place. 'You ought...' her face became haughty; she raised her hand as if to point to the keep.

I rolled my eyes, 'Don't start' I snapped, 'I'm here and I'm certainly going to fight for this' I gestured, my eyes widening as I dodged a grappling hook seized the marble walls. I pushed past Susan, her mouth comically opened mid –retort, I grabbed a lit torch and set the yew ladder alit. Her expression would have been comical, flames licked at the bodies climbing, I turned away, 'I'm not going to just stand by and do nothing, whilst the people I love risk their lives? Even you the gentle queen are fighting – they have slaughtered countless lives.' My voice became thick; 'I know I'm not one of you, but I care about this place more than you could ever realise.'

I turned away, narrowing my eyes; I shot again, marvelling at the unlimited arrows. Out of the corner of my eye, Susan was exchanging glances with Eustace, who simply shrugged and smiled grimly. Her face still showed signed of reservations, she tried to speak, but a bellow from Eustace cut her off. A flock of arrows came down hard on the creatures below, but to no avail, others soon replaced them – the battering is again. Her grey eyes widened: 'Gwen, go to Edmund; the gate won't hold we need resistance, now!' I looked down at her words, literally hills of blackened bodies lay, arrows embedded, morbidly it reminded me of a lumpy pin cushion.

I nodded drawing my sword, short, perfectly balanced, hand ground, the hilt and pummel encompassing my hand, but allowed for it to be held in two hands, similar to a great sword. Perfect, it unnerved me. I ran down the stairs blood thumping, adrenalin increasing. All sounds drained away, a door way at the base of the wall, enchanted, only to let those of pure of heart pass.

I passed through, letting instinct take over. I stabbed, slashed, ducked and weaved. My body adapted to my surroundings, eyes darting trying to find a tall dark haired figure among the mob of people. I feigned, stabbing to the right, I watched as the man crumpled, not disintegrating into dust or blowing away into the breeze, evil leaked out, a liquid was leaking from him. Translucent in colour, it seemed to eat away at its host, burning the ground beneath it. Its last act was to destroy the land. I breathed in heavily, the smell of the decomposing body filling my nostrils, coating the back of my throat. I retched and spat, the public school girl in me repulsed at the action.

Shaking my head, I noticed out of the corner of my eye a dark shape. I moved just in time, missing the head, but with its tail I was not so lucky. Lightning fast, it floored me, my nose seemed to explode with pain, blood spattered my armour, scarlet blood flowed free, untamed down my face. I rolled over, clambering to my feet, I faced the beast. A bird like face, it slithered on a belly of wet scales, it lashed out again, it caught my shoulder. Gritting my teeth, I managed to dodge the next blow, catching it on its flank. It breathed acrid smoke, rolling to avoid it; I felt noise flooding me, my shoulder stung. Feigning I stabbed left, my weaker side, the creature writhed and fell.

I shivered – I had survived, I made a promise, then and then, I would not fight again, I leaned against a tree, pinching my nose to stop the flow. I almost smiled I would leave the fighting to Peter and be done with it, I would stay at home, tend to the wounded and bake banana bread, and darling could bring home an orc head. But at the mere thought of him, my chest constricted, the niggling thought had now come to the surface, I hoped to Aslan he was ok, if not… I don't know what I would do.

I concentrated on my task, slaying those who engaged me or those who endangered others. I fought to defend, not for sadistic glory. Screams could be heard all around me, men calling for their mothers, begging to be put out of their misery. The clouds rolled overhead, even rain did not fall on these creatures. However I did not wish for the rain to come as the ground was already sodden. I did not look down.

I screamed his name again, evading a lumbering giant, his gait nearly half a mile long, his club raised, bringing down with a sadistic _thwamp _enemies far below.

I saw him, by the river, not much of his company was left. His brow sweaty and muscles tired he battled harder than ever. I started to run, giving aid. I blocked a vicious downward blow from a retched looking Goblin. The swords clashed, an opportunity arose, and I drew my fist back, and wincing at the incoming pain, punched the revolted thing in the face. I lashed out with my feet, avoiding blows from his mace, I stabbed, and he sidestepped it easily, cackling.

Swapping hands, I fingered the throwing knife at my waist, he came at me again, I dodged, bringing my forearm back and releasing. It embedded itself into his face. I cried out in alarm and disgust. Not looking back I sprinted at the dark figure, my arms growing weary.

I spotted a Shaitan behind him, drawing breath I yelled 'Edmund!' his head turned, a man took this opportunity to connect his elbow with Edmunds cheek. He staggered, nearly falling. I ran, dodging blows carving a path through the enemy. The bloody sickle was raised, I saw no other choice, wincing as I did so; I cut him down at head height. He fell. I looked around; Edmund's sword was still raised.

'Guinevere?' he breathed heavily, steam and sweat poured off him. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and spat expertly. A tooth and flecks of blood flying too, landing on the sodden ground.

My eyes widened, I shoved him away from an axe. The man cut down by Edmund in an expert back swing. Something moved in the shadows, a she-wolf, I had seen them before in old Narnian lore. It rose on its hind legs, baring its teeth. Without thinking, I punched the she-wolf, evading a leap, it turned with frightening pace and left again, I rolled away, calculating. As it leaped again, I brought my sword up in an upward arc wounding its touch yellow hide. It snarled. Right before a throwing knife was embedded in its skull.

'Edmund, Susaid she needs reinforcements!' I leaned against a tree gasping for air. He shook his head.

'I can't spare any, even with the newly healed – we have to regroup.'

'We can't they've taken half the keep – Rhea's had to move the infirmary!' I tilted my head back, the bleeding was slowing. Edmund's eyes widened. 'She's fine.' I waved a hand, not wanting to speak, 'What do we do?'

His eyes were suddenly filled with tears; his usually warm brown eyes were cloudy.

'We need to regroup, get everyone away from the keep; about a mile should do it.' His eyes darting around, his handsome features set in determination.

'Why?' I wheezed.

'I'm going to detonate Cair Paravel Gwen.'


	6. Chapter 6: Blood on the Snow

Chapter 6 - Blood on the Snow

_Disclaimer: I don't own this. If I did I would probably update more.._

I just stared at him, the Just king was dirty, tired and smelt of blood, urine and sweat. He closed his eyes and breathed out a slow and shallow breath, blocking as he did so a blow which came from the left. When he opened his eyes again, the foe was disintegrating. I shook my head, as if he could sense my misgivings.

He sighed, running a bleeding hand through his dark hair, he looked exhausted" Look, most of the enemy has taken the castle. Its simple tactics. Allow the enemy to believe they have won then-"

"Blow the castle up?" I interrupted. It made sense.

He smiled, clearly he could see I was coming to terms with the idea, and then the world went still. Edmund spat, hard at the ground, his whole body was shaking with rage, and I could see his pulse race through his pale thin skin. "She's here." I did not need clarification. "You, stay here." His eyes blazed with an anger which I had never seen before, whimsical eyes became blue storms. "I'm going to get Susan. I'm leaving you in command." I nodded, swinging my sword into a Minotaur. "Are you ok?" his voice calmed.

"Go." I replied. He nodded and ran off. I shuddered, scanning the situation. The evil had indeed invaded Cair Perivale, spreading like mould, decaying the ivory towers. The battle field was nearly deserted of enemy troops, all had cohersted into a mass I allowed myself a sob, pushing my hair out of my eyes and checked my nose. It throbbed, but it had stopped bleeding. It wasn't the responsibility that scared me. Nor was it what I had to do. _Would the troops listen to me? _I took a deep breath.

My voice didn't shake; I grabbed a banner, stained with blood. I smiled grimly and allowed the sounds around me to fill me, overpower me until I was shaking with hatred and despair. Running to the clearing. I allowed my emotions to be released, My voice broke as I screamed for the flank to follow, to re group. To bind together from the Lion. A stallion screeched, I mounted, better to be seen, I reasoned._ Easier to be killed_, a voice inside my head added. Troops converged; I motioned to cliffs, a couple of miles away from the perilous edge. I was breathing hard, through my nose, my pulse raced, adrenaline pumped through me.

"STAND STILL." I commanded, my eyes set. Narnians where feeling the castle, followed shortly. To my surprise they did. Men in all sort of disrepair followed me, looked to me for direction. "Injured to the cliffs. If you can get down to the beach. Well out of danger." There were murmurs the flank, commanding officers, recognisable by the lion breast plate echoed the orders.

A flock of riders galloped out of the castle, some in groups, some alone. Cutting down any remaining stragglers. A familiar sight and a cheer went up at the sight of the monarchy. I smiled. The plan had worked. "Well done Ed." I smiled. And then the Castle imploded. The walls fell into themselves, stone folded as easy as paper. I shivered; it didn't make a sound, not a, but a force could be felt. Air, with the consistency of custard flowed past, some of the more struggling soldiers toppled over as a result of the wave. The only sound was the grunts and squeals of the dying enemy. Despite everything, I felt pity. I shook my head.

"You shouldn't feel sympathy for them." Peter was to the left of me; his steed glistened with sweat and with the blood of his enemies. I gazed at him, just drinking him in allowing myself the luxury of staring. His eyes were wide, his pupils large. Blood trickled from his temple, his lips were split and his jaw – "It's dislocated." He rasped, a smile coming to his battered and torn features. Relief flooded, engulfed me. I resisted the urge to reach out, turning my head back to the tremendous sight.

"Remind me, when this mess is over, to give you the bill." I smiled. Peter looked perturbed, his eyebrows knotted together. "My flat. It burnt to the ground." He rolled his eyes lips quirking.

"Well, if it is any consolation. I have no home either." He gestured, his eyes growing dark. I gave in. I reached across and put my hand on his. It was calloused, bloody and so warm. A shock went through me; I squeezed it, as the towers folded in. "The Witch is still here though." He looked at me. I nodded. His eyes dark and determined, lips set, wind blowing through his hair. "You will remain-"I looked at him, and tightened my grip.

"You're not the only one fighting for this land." My voice was husky from screaming and if I was honest with myself, probably from being in such close contact with the High King. A horn sounded, I broke the contact. It was Susan. "FLANK STILL." I screamed, throwing down the banner and drawing my sword. "Sorry dear that's probably your line isn't it." The adrenaline causing through me left me feeling almost drunk. I spurred the horse to gallop, standing start. I heard Peter curse and a set of galloping hooves behind me. I smiled.

The smile was slapped off my face, it had begun to snow.

The horn had come from the river, two miles from the ivory mass which was Cair Paravel. A blanket of white corrosion had grown around the river, which was now black ice. I stopped short, dismounted, my horse was shaking. With cold or fear I didn't know. I pushed him away. He didn't need telling. Whinnying, he bolted. Peter dismounted before his horse had come to a stop; it looped inclining his head at his king and took off to greener pastures.

"You, Gwen are infuriating." He gritted his teeth.

"Part of my charm." I grew closer to him. The wood was silent, not even the sound of the battle, of the cheering could be heard. I looked at him, he looked about fourteen again. Wait. "Peter!" He smiled sadly.

Peter was crying, the man I had fallen in love with, the man that I admired, who was a a pillar of strength to so many people was now close to a nervous breakdown; "I'm still that fourteen year old. Fighting for my baby brother." His armour was gone. Instead, trousers and braces and a blue shirt, a lion without a mane, Peter was still Peter still my age, well appearing my age. His sword was new, barely used.

A scream broke through the clearing. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end, I took his hand, shivering. The snow was now knee deep. He nodded, his emotions getting the better of him. "Where are you?" He roared. "Come on, you've lost, please just admit defeat." His voice dipping ever so slightly due to exhaustion. His head darted this way and that, trying to not betray the clearly rising panic. Peter was shaking. Another scream. To the left, by the bank. Pulling me through the snow, he looked back. "Still the schoolgirl?" My mind stopped, heat spreading from my navel to the roots of my hair. My hand twisted, sweaty, humiliated and angry. I allowed myself a glance. Blazer, blouse and a pencil skirt. My hair was in pigtails. He smiled sadly. "Red suits you." Despair was slowly creeping in, the little voice at the back of my mind was now shouting, screaming. Peter's voice shattered my self deprecation "Come on." his voice cracking, his blue eyes swimming, blinking rapidly.

I turned his face to mine. "We will find her. She'll be fine. Aslan won't let anything happen to her." I hoped my own doubts and convictions wouldn't show. Peter nodded. "Come on you bitch!" I yelled. Exhaustion bit into me. The snow had already soaked my feet, tights offering a pathetic defence against the wet. "I'm tired. Tired of running, tired of being tormented, tired of waiting. Just get it over with. " I snarled at the whiteness.

The snow swirled, once an image of amusement, now sent a thrill of terror through me. Peter moved in front of me, his shoulder resting against my blazer. He tightened his grip. "That was foolish, bloody fantastic, but foolish." The snow formed the image of a woman. It moved and the White Witch stepped through the trees and stood on the frozen river. She smirked. I thought my fingers might disintegrate with the force of Peter's hand crushing mine. As the terror shot through me. The trees roared with displeasure, their mighty arms shook and creaked ominously. The woman just smiled.

Peter sunk into a natural fighting stance, I mirrored him. My eyes fixed on the vision of white, tunnelling on her face, eyes, hand – sword! She was upon us in moments, time slowed, the sword of ice came down in a shining arc a sound of wet glass and utter danger. We dodged, easily. Peter kept one arm out stretched, a rather grand gesture some might say. Both physical and symbolic, the arm which was strained, muscles aching was chivalrous and marked his concern both against our attacker but also I supposed that I belonged to him. That I was worth dying for.

It is also a bloody stupid thing to do.

The first blow was a feint; the witch reversed the direction in a wide circle. Peter believing it to be a readjustment of stance did not move in time. Suffice to say. The blade severed the arm just below the elbow. Everything went still, I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. I just watched as her head tilted back in pride and gratification. And she just smiled at me. "Don't" I could almost hear Peter saying it? But he was on the floor, blood fountaing up, staining the snow, which absorbed it like nectar. Whimpers and groans. The lovers certainly did not kiss in the sunset. _On the floor like the dog that he is. _ I stood stock still, darting from Peter to the Witch. My eyes settled on her.

"Leave." It was a whisper, she cocked her head towards me, as though I was an interesting specimen crawling a cross the floor. _Why?_ "I will kill you." I said plainly. My hand had stopped shaking and I swung my sword lazily. _Shouldn't you tend to your king? _ The response was natural, calm, like a cat settling down to pounce: "My king would rather die than see you in command of this land. And so would I." Her eyebrows knotted together, confused, just for a moment. The snow descended on the figure behind me, a snarl crossing the pale woman's lips. _Long live the king. _

Peter had stopped groaning, had stopped whimpering, had stopped breathing. I darted around, spinning. Stone. A visage of pain and anguish is hand clutched around his stump. His leg stretching for his sword. The figure looked directly at me. I touched his face only for a moment. Cold.

I snarled, wheeling about. I swung my sword wildly, angrily, for Narnia, only for the people, only for the Pevensies who had lost a brother, for the people who had suffered at her hands before. She laughed, deep and high and raspy and clear. It was like snow melting, ice shattering, frost biting. Backhanding me across the face, her lips quirked in amusement as I raised my hands perfectly still. My feet burned with pain, I was shivering violently now. The blow stung and hot liquid burst from my nose. Everything became second, the cheers became background muffled by the trees, which became blurred, the pain increased and numbed.

I spat, glancing with interest at a tooth. This had to be my own. _Sit down, little girl. _ I swung again, parrying her brute blow. She struck time and time, again and again. And each time I felt myself, slip that bit more, weaken that tiny amount. My chest hurt, my ribs ached and my muscles screamed.

Her eyes grew wide, pressing her advantaged she stabbed down into my left foot, which had become rigid and unresponsive due to the cold. I buckled, allowing her to gracefully sweep and plant the front of her foot into my kneecap. Dislocating it efficiently and with brutal precision. Her arm curved into a nimble ascent and released the blade into my shoulder.

I hit the snow.

Everything was pain and everything was Peter.

My eyes water and salt stung. I heard the sounds of celebration, of joy. Sobs racked me, causing spasms of pain to erupt pulse through my body, my eyes clamped shut.

"I'm sorry." I thought of the lion, a now obvious presence in my life. From the very beginning. Lights and emotions flashed in my memory as my breathing slowed. I shoved myself away, my face turned towards the cheering crowd.

The lion roared a thwack thump of a bow. A gust of wind, a blizzard and what sounded like a scream of anger. Another scream. Shouts. Calling for healers. The ground thudded and I could hear the sound of life returning.

I surrendered to the ground.


End file.
